Texan Memories
by Okapilover
Summary: When America visits Texas late at night, he feels the urge to put on Texas' glasses. What he sees will change the way he sees his state forever


America slowly crept his way into the old ranch home. He looked around making sure the Texan wasn't still awake, and then started moving towards his state's bedroom. The reason he was here just proved how much of an idiot he was. He was over earlier to pick up important paperwork that the president needed from the state. But he and Tex had struck up a conversation and in his haste to get the document to his boss before the morning; he had left _just one paper_. But that one paper had the most important signature. The one signature all former Confederates had to turn in each year. The signature that stated Texas wasn't going to succeed from the United States again.

He knew where he left it too. Halloween was coming up, and he was going to the Countries Annual Halloween party as a cowboy, much to the Texans amusement, so he had asked to borrow some clothes from the former country. That piece of paper was on Texas' dresser, right by the vase of bluebonnets (_'I don't care if it's manly or not, I like 'em, and if I wanna look at some 'fore I got to sleep, then gosh darnit I will!')_

He finally found himself outside the wooden door, and he took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door, cringing at the creek it made. He peeked in quickly making sure he hadn't woken Texas up, and made his way in the small room. He searched quickly and found the document quickly and rushed to pick it up. He checked the document, making sure everything was in order. He stared at the signature for a long time. He could still remember the pang in his heart when the Texan stood before him, saying he was going to be part of the Confederacy, and just stared as he demanded the glasses back. The glasses were given to him by the Texan himself, and the glasses were an exact replica of the Texan's own glasses. As he though this, his eyes found their way to said state. The blond hair he inherited from American and German immigration was wild and spread out on the pillow. His eyes were squeezed shut over the bright green eyes inherited from Spain. And the glasses given to him by Mexico were on the nightstand. His glasses weren't that different from America's, perhaps a little thicker. They were also prescription glasses, unlike America's who wore his own for the pure purpose of reminding him that if the country went down the drain, it wouldn't just effect himself.

'I wonder how bad his eyesight is,' The American found himself thinking. Then he did something he would soon regret. He threw away the Mission Impossible vibe he had going, and inched his way towards the nightstand the glasses rested on. He checked to make sure the Texan was still asleep, and then he reached for the state's glasses. Slipping off his own, he put on the glasses.

Everything was instantly blurry. 'Whoa, Tex dude is totally blind! Good thing he has these.' America thought. He was fixing to take them off, when he felt his body lifted off the ground. He looked around in a panic, but the blurriness made everything impossible to see anything. Suddenly, he was thrown on the ground again. Finally, everything was clear again, but he quickly realized he was not in his state's bedroom anymore. He brought his hands up to his face, his eyes widening in realization. _The glasses were gone. _Hurriedly he looked up to observe his surroundings. The place was foreign to him. To the left there were plains as far as the eye could see. To the right there was a meadow of bright bluebonnets.

'So I'm probably still in Texas, but…why do I feel as though I've been here before?' America continued to search when his eyes set on a little boy walking through the bluebonnets with a wide smile on his face. The little boy looked vaguely familiar, with dark brown hair and dark tanned skin. It wasn't until he saw the bright green eyes did a single name come to his lips. "Texas!"

But the boy did not look up. He continued frolicking through the flowers. Suddenly, an all too familiar sound reached his ears, "Ohonhonhon, look what we have here! New land just waiting to be colonized by _moi_." At the sound of a new voice the boy stared at the strange, clean, foreign man who was disrupting the peace with his talk. France walked up to the boy and said, "What is your name, _mon ami_?" A suddenly very confused look crossed the boy's face. He then spoke back in a language neither America nor France understood. France glanced at the men behind him, then back at the boy. A smile graced the Frenchman's lips. "Oh, this is fantastic! I get to teach you my language. Though, I suppose I'd have to teach you a little English as well, so you could get by as a successful colony. Just wait until Arthur gets a glimpse of you when we get you all cleaned up.

France proceeded to take the little Texas up by the elbow and drag him away. Texas started kicking and screaming his language and America could see the tears starting to form in his eyes. "Could someone_ please_ figure out this child's language!" was the last thing America heard as everything became blurry again, but he wasn't thrown to the ground again, rather set down gently. America had figured out that he was in Texas' memories, and the last one was when France had colonized him. He knew Texas wasn't fond of France, but he had no idea that France had literally taken him kicking and screaming. He felt sudden hatred for France, which only magnified as the next memory came into play. The scene was the same, in fact America questioned if it really was a different memory, but when he saw the Texan clinging to the leg of a Frenchman, crying like a baby, he knew what was happening. This is when France _just left_.

"_Mon cher _let go of my leg. I have told you, my delicate skin cannot bear this insane weather of yours, and your natives are barbaric! I'm leaving; I can't handle you as a colony anymore!" Then France shook the crying toddler off his leg and shook his head in annoyance.

'Texas never told me that's how he left!' America was seething with rage toward the Frenchman. But his eyes widened when yet another familiar face came towards the boy. A much kinder face. It was Spain. He approached with caution, suddenly kneeling in front of the boy and with a broad smile he spoke, "_Hola_, _mi amigo! _Are you alright? What is your name?"

Texas looked up, and speedily wiped away his tears. He stood up, but he was still eye level with Spain. "No name. Monsieur France not gives me one." 'Wow, when France said little, he meant little. He barely knows any English. Ha! England would be mortified.'

"Well my name is Spain, and I would like to be your friend. Would you let me?" Spain kept the smile on his face as he held out a ripe red tomato. Texas stared at the foreign food with excitement. He nodded his head in a quick yes and grabbed the fruit with greedy fingers. Spain laughed at the look of pure joy that came across Texas' as he enjoyed his first bite. Texas then returned Spain's wide smile and hugged him, surprising the Spaniard, though he quickly returned it.

Spain pulled away and wiped away the remaining tears, "You know what would be a good name for you, mi amigo?" Texas looked at Spain with interest, "Tejas! It is a good name, yes?" Texas considered this then the smile grew even wider and he nodded his head rapidly.

America smiled to himself. Texas always spoke well of Spain and he always had the upmost respect for him. Now he could see why. Good old Spain always came through.

The next memory started in a surprising way. It started in what he recognized as Spain's house. He saw a Texas who looked to be a little younger than Sealand. Who Texas was with was what surprised him the most. Sitting next to Texas, was South Italy, otherwise known as Romano. Texas was laughing, and Romano had a small smile on his face, a strange sight in itself. America remembered that many Southern Italians sailed to Texas under the Spanish flag, and that Texas was one of the few that could tolerate Romano. They seemed to be playing a game of something similar to patty cake. But the laughter and fun soon stopped, as a Spain and another face came in through the door. With the short black hair pulled into a tight ponytail and the chocolate brown eyes, he realized that this man was Mexico. Texas never mentioned Mexico. Ever. And it was an unspoken rule that America wasn't to mention him either. He suddenly had a sickeningly feeling about what was about to happen next. Mexico and Spain were noticeably torn up in such a way that suggested they had been at war. Suddenly Mexico stepped forward. "I've claimed my independence from Spain," he stated. Texas smiled up at Mexico, "Congratulations, big brother! You're your own country now!" Texas turned back to Romano, but he was grabbed by the waist by Mexico, "I'm my own country, yes. And I'm taking you from Spain. You're my territory now, si?" Texas looked surprised. He stared at Spain, who looked equally surprised. "Mexico, you cannot take Tejas! He is my territory!" Mexico glanced down at the boy in his arms. Romano glares at Mexico and Spain. Spain reaches for the boy, but Mexico turns away from him and starts walking. Texas looked over Mexico's shoulders and stared at Spain and Romano.

'I though Spain gave Texas to Mexico, I didn't know he just took him like that.' America thought with a scowl. Both France and Mexico just took him away from his comfort zone and put him in theirs to gain power.

The next memory started with a little Texas bumping into a bookshelf at Mexico's house. America stifled a laugh as Mexico looked up from his mail. "Little Tejas, are you alright?" Texas gave a nod then bumped into the coffee table. Mexico sighed, "Tejas stand by the bookshelf." Texas made his way to the bookshelf, bumping into it again, and turned towards Mexico. Mexico held up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Texas squinted real hard, and then came to a decision, "Siete!"

Mexico stared at Texas for a minute, and then deeply sighed, "Tejas, how many fingers are on one hand?"

"Cinco, brother!"

"How many hands did I hold up?"

"…oh."

"That's it Tejas, first thing in the morning we're getting you glasses, understand?" Texas nodded, then went back to what he was doing before, being careful of the bookcase.

The next few memories went by in a blur, as if Texas didn't want to remember them. America caught a glimpse of Mexico yelling at Texas, something about 'stupid Americans.' Another in which the tables were turned, and Texas was yelling, no doubt proclaiming his independence. What followed those two memories was awful pictures of the battles Texan and Mexican troops fought. Blood and gore, dead Mexicans and Texans scattered everywhere, the latter always seeming to be larger in number. One particular battle lingered on for a second more than the rest. America recognized a building called 'The Alamo' with more dead Texans than any other battle they fought.

The next scene reminded him of a similar battle he had fought with England. Except this was the battle of San Jacinto, the final victory of the Texan Revolution. A Texas who was no more than in his late teens was pointing a gun at Mexico's forehead. In return, Mexico was pointing a gun a Texas' chest. Texas looked more like the one he knew today. The glasses were set firmly on his face. His blond hair was there, with his light tan skin and his trademark freckles sprinkled across his face. He didn't look like someone who was a second away from firing a bullet in someone's skull. Texas spoke first watching the people around him die, "Mexico, you know you can make this all stop."

"No. You are my territory, and I refuse to give you up."

"My people aren't happy here Mexico, not under your rule!"

Mexico remained silent, glaring at Texas with ferocious intensity.

"You just can't accept the fact that your own people don't want to be a part of your country anymore!"

"It doesn't matter, Tejas. Do you not realize how many battles you've lost to me? I always win in the end; you will be my colony again."

"NO! Not after all the deaths my people have gone through. You've kept my people under your tyrant rule! You murdered them at The Alamo! You slaughtered them at Goliad! And now, you'll pay!"

A single gunshot was heard though neither Texas nor Mexico fell. Texas' gun was aimed right beside Mexico's head.

"Get. Out."

And suddenly, America was back in Texas' room. The boy was still sleeping soundly. He was no longer on a battlefield. He quickly set the glasses down again, grabbed the document, and hurried out the house. Once he was safely in his car he rested his head against the cool steering wheel. He had no idea Texas had such a relationship with Mexico. He didn't even know he knew Romano personally. Was there more he didn't know about Texas? Was Texas really the all-smiles person who he sometimes called his little brother? Or did he bottle it all up inside, and cry himself to sleep. America suddenly looked up. No. America smiled as he realized, if there was one thing Texas inherited from Spain besides those green eyes, it was his ability to leave everything in the past, in the past, so he could bring joy to people he's around, whether he knows it or not.


End file.
